


Kintsugi

by katyabaryzh



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Black Widow AU, Black Widow!Hanzo, M/M, McHanzo - Freeform, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Soul Reaper!Jesse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2018-12-04 12:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11554887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katyabaryzh/pseuds/katyabaryzh
Summary: Hanzo Shimada is a black widow who seduces men, marries them, and then kills them for their money. After amassing a small fortune Hanzo begins to kill his husbands for the thrill of the hunt. He ensnares older men with no family nor future in his web and gets away with it. Jesse McCree is a recently turned demon who works as a Soul Reaper for the Devil. As a newbie he's already accrued a massive debt to pay back to the Devil in the form of human souls. He crosses paths with Hanzo and realizes that it was for both of their best interests that they become business partners of sorts.





	1. Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is an idea that I've had rattling around in my brain for a while. Come visit me on [my tumblr here.](http://katyabaryzh.tumblr.com)  
> Beta-read and co-edited by my lovely bff Star! Visit her on [her tumblr here!](http://starspangledscarf.tumblr.com)  
> Negligee/dressing gown referenced  
> 

At first he had done it for the money, but as he had gotten enough money to live comfortably without worry, he began to do it for the rush. He’d play to their interests. Most of them wanted a young, demure, submissive little pet and Hanzo was quite the actor. He’d trick these men into falling deeply in love with him. Most of these men had no family, they were far past their prime, and wanted to settle down for the rest of their life with a pretty little trophy. 

Of course, they’d never die from old age. Hanzo would secure his name in their will, and before the ink had dried they would disappear. No one would miss them, no one would care. When he claimed his 3rd victim, however, he experienced something strange. 

Hanzo stood at the top of an ornate marble staircase, his late husband lay at the bottom, his body twisted and broken in an unnatural position. A man in a long, dark coat and wide brimmed hat sat crouched over the man’s corpse. He sat there for a moment studying the fresh corpse with intense focus. When did he appear? How did he get in? Pitch black eyes froze Hanzo where he stood. The man in the wide brimmed hat smiled at him and motioned to the body he crouched over.

“You did this, didn’t you?” The man in the hat asked, wagging his finger as if he were scolding a child. Ice ran through Hanzo’s veins and he began to break out into a cold sweat. His thoughts raced in his head at a million miles an hour and he shivered in his silk negligee.

“It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone. They won’t see me, but it seems you can.” He said with a wolfish grin as he stood. Then, in a few swift motions he stood at the top of the stairs, inches away from Hanzo’s face, roughly cupping his chin in his cold gloved hand, appraising him as if he were a fine jewel. Hanzo couldn’t will himself to speak. He couldn’t will himself to look away either, no matter how desperately he wanted to. His muscles were frozen by some supernatural force as he helplessly stared into the face of someone clearly inhuman.

The mysterious figure waited a few seconds for Hanzo to respond, studying the fine features of the face cupped in his hand. When Hanzo remained silent his grin became almost impish, his tone jeering. 

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” The man bellowed out a laugh and Hanzo felt it rattle against his ribcage, “Tell you what, I’m behind on some, uh, debts,” His eyes flicked up and down Hanzo’s body. “I’ll cut you a deal. You can keep on with your killing spree, and I don’t tell a soul. I’ll even protect you. Easy soul reaping for me, and some sick satisfaction for you. That good enough for you?” The man blinked and Hanzo regained control of his muscles. Apparently his pitch black eyes held some kind of power.  Once freed of their grasp he began shaking violently and fell to his knees. Was he going mad? Was this some kind of hallucination from the mind of a lunatic? He had to swallow down a scream. His stomach lurched and rolled in waves of nausea, threatening to bring up the extravagant dinner he’d shared with his late husband hours prior.

“Careful there darlin’. Don’t wanna bruise your knees, now.” He kneels before Hanzo and cups his chin once again, jerking his face up to look him in the eyes. 

“Not the talkin’ type? It figures. Always the quiet ones who kill. As pretty as you are I don’t have all day to stand around. Souls to reap y’see. So let me ask you this: Are you in on my offer, or would you rather I contact the authorities?” Hanzo worried his bottom lip, weighing his options. He remembered all the old stories his Father read to him as a child. The ugly consequences of making deals with demons was the one lesson all the stories had in common. However, after a few seconds, Hanzo finally made his decision. Making a deal like this was much better than leaving behind a comfortable life for the cold walls of a prison cell.

“I’ll do it.” Is all Hanzo manages to get out before the black-eyed man let out another rib rattling laugh. He stood up and offered his hand to Hanzo who cautiously took it before being hoisted to his feet at a dizzying speed. Supernatural powers and raw strength flowed in this man, and Hanzo shuddered to think of what would happen if he’d double crossed him. 

“Excellent. What’s your name darlin’? I’d like to know my partner before conductin’ business with ‘em.”  

“That should be my line. Perhaps you should introduce yourself before asking someone’s name. It’s common courtesy after all, or do Reapers not have manners?” Jesse gives him an offended look before clutching his chest as if he were in actual pain.

“I’m wounded, darlin’. Of course I have manners,” The man tips the brim of his hat down in greeting, “The name’s Jesse McCree. Though that hardly more." McCree mumbled the last part under his breath making Hanzo strain to hear it. “Well? I told you my name. How long I gotta wait to get yours?”

“My name is Shimada Hanzo. A pleasure to meet you.” McCree chuckles softly before shaking his hand. 

“Look at you schooling me in manners. I look forward to doin’ business with ya’.” Hanzo firmly returned McCree’s handshake, marveling at how cold his hands were despite being covered in rich black leather. McCree seemed to take notice of Hanzo’s wonderment and rolled his eyes. 

“Of course my hands are cold. I’m a demon.” He drawls sarcastically, as if this were common knowledge, “Kinda have to be in order to enter an’ leave Hell as I please. Now that the introductions and pleasantries are outta the way, I got work to do.” With that, McCree’s long duster swept the marble steps of the staircase as he smoothly made his way back down to the body that lay at the foot. He resumed his previous crouching position, and Hanzo shook his head.  He had to be going mad. He was going to wake up in the morning and all of this would have been an extremely strange dream. 

He pulled his negligee tighter around himself and padded down the carpeted hallway to his lavish bedroom before shedding his gown and slipping under a goose down duvet. His brain was foggy with exhaustion and the moment he closed his eyes, sleep took him. Hanzo had slept better that night than he had in years. 

  
  



	2. Pact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo gets a little more than what he bargained for...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad so many people enjoyed the first chapter! I'm sorry you all waited so long for this chapter. I take free writing requests over on my [Tumblr blog here!](http://www.katyabaryzh.tumblr.com) My wonderful beta is Star! Find her on her [Tumblr blog here!](http://www.starspangledscarf.tumblr.com)

Hanzo awoke the next morning to someone prodding and shoving his shoulder. He sucked in a deep breath and opened his eyes, knowing full well who he was about to see. Sure enough, his eyes focused in on neon green hair. Genji looked down and gave Hanzo a soft, pitying smile. He knew what that smile meant. Something had happened and Genji was attempting to comfort him. He sat bolt upright in his bed and fixed his brother with a bewildered expression. His heart hammered away in his chest as his thoughts began to race a mile a minute. 

Their Father had fallen ill with an aggressive pneumonia, the doctors were sure he wasn’t going to survive. Few people his Father’s age did. His body was so weak; 5 months had been his prognosis, and he was closely encroaching on 4 ½. Genji placed a hand on Hanzo’s knee and squeezed lightly; an attempt at a reassuring gesture. However, Hanzo knocked his hand away and gave him a stern look. Genji had good intentions, but he just wasn’t in the mood. 

“What happened? Why are you here?” Genji look hurt for a split second before he ran a hand through his hair. A shared tick between the two brothers. “Well? Spit it out.”  
“The police want to speak to you Anija. It’s your husband… he’s…” 

The events of the previous night played over in his mind while Genji jabbered on.  
He remembered his husband wanting to take a walk in the garden. He stood at the top of the stairs waiting for Hanzo to finish getting ready, but Hanzo wasn’t getting ready for a walk anytime soon. He’d come down the hallway in his dressing gown, the expensive one made of silk organza and fine lace, the sleeves trimmed with tulle.

Hanzo’s husband had a fondness for putting him in feminine garments despite his obviously masculine build. He never minded it, he quite liked the feel of silk and lace, and other such finery men would buy for him. Hanzo wasn’t picky, he’d wear whatever was most comfortable or appropriate for the day’s events. Sometimes he’d even humor them, wearing the clothes they’d spent the most money on. The ones that froze them in their steps, that had the biggest effect on them. He celebrated a personal victory everytime he could feel their eyes trained on him, their throats running dry, their pants getting a little tighter. He would laugh inwardly. How he had them wrapped so tightly around his little finger. 

And so he stepped out of the room and to the top landing of the marble staircase. His husband had turned around and swallowed visibly. A sly smile spread across Hanzo’s lips as he wrapped his arms around the man, laying his head against his chest. His husband had responded by pulling him closer, trailing his hands down the smooth silk of Hanzo’s gown, lower until Hanzo pushed away from him. He pushed hard, the man stumbled backwards and inevitably fell down the stairs. He remembered feeling a great sense of euphoria as his husband lay unmoving, a wolfish grin stretching across his face and a laugh beginning to bubble up from his throat. Then… the rest that followed. 

The mysterious demon who called himself Jesse McCree, with his cold, leather-clad hands, and jeering grins. Hanzo mused over how rugged and wild-looking he was. How much power he held in his eyes and brute strength alone. The dangerous nature of that man captivated Hanzo and ran away with his thoughts.

“Anija!” Genji’s voice tore him away from his fantasy. He blinked up at his younger brother. Worry was etched into Genji’s face, and his eyes looked a little misty.  
“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” Hanzo finally spoke, his voice still crackly from sleep. Genji looked at his brother with a shocked expression. Had he really not heard all of that?  
“I was saying that someone murdered your husband last night! The locks on the front door were tampered with. Someone broke into your house and pushed your husband down the stairs. The police want to speak with you.”

Genji furrowed his eyebrows, sensing something off about his brother. He wondered why Hanzo was constantly losing spouses to freak accidents and illnesses. It seemed all too convenient. His heart sunk and dread settled over him. Could he be the cause of these men’s deaths? He opened his mouth to speak, looked up at his brother, and stopped. 

Tears were freely falling from Hanzo’s eyes, shoulders shaking with the effort to hold back cries of legitimate emotional pain. Genji felt guilty for even entertaining the thought of his brother as a black widow. “Hanzo,” He said in a consoling tone, pulling his brother in for a hug. “I’m so sorry. You’re going through so much.” He stood up and grabbed a tissue from the box at the nearby vanity, handing it to his brother and rubbing soothing circles on his back. Once Hanzo had settled into small crying hiccups, Genji gently coaxed him to stand. “I know this may be asking too much right now, but we need to talk to the police officers downstairs. I’ll be with you the whole time, okay?” Hanzo nodded, his hair easily slipping off from his shoulders and sticking to the tear tracks on his face. He messily brushed them away and attempted to look somewhat presentable. A quick glance in the mirror on the vanity showed his eyes to be red rimmed and puffy, his cheeks considerably pinker. He could use his appearance to his advantage. As he got off the bed to give his cover story to the police, he internally celebrated how natural he’d gotten at taking on the role of a grieving widower.

Much later Hanzo closed the front door of his house. The detectives at the scene walked away empty handed. The man who broke the locks on the door apparently wore gloves when breaking and entering. When they dusted for fingerprints they’d discovered he’d also worn gloves while committing the murder. They walked away truly baffled. One of the detectives; a strong-jawed, broad shouldered man, with two long scars across his face, and snow white hair in a neat crew cut, especially stood out to him. He didn’t seem at all convinced that someone had broken into the house and was instead eyeing Hanzo the whole time his partner questioned him. He’d made him extremely uncomfortable. At some point his partner, a sharp eyed woman with dark shoulder length hair and a tattoo under her eye, had noticed, and told him to lay off the staring. She apologized to Hanzo as they left his house, making a jab at her partner’s age. “Aw don’t worry about Detective Morrison. He’s just going senile.” She had said with a strained smile.

She thanked him for his time before her partner called to her from outside, with the same sour expression he wore on his face during the questioning. She rolled her eyes and headed out to the car. Hanzo heard her tell him to lighten up before the car doors slammed and their conversation was muted. 

He shook his head, turning around to face Genji who sat on the couch, his mind somewhere else.  
“Genji?” He looked to him, bags under his eyes. What time did he get here, and how long had he waited for Hanzo to wake up? “Have you eaten anything yet?” Hanzo asked, a tinge of worry in his voice. Genji shook his head, picking at his hoodie. “Well let’s go eat, hm? I want to get out of this house for a bit.” Genji’s face lit up. If there was one thing Genji loved, it was cheap diner breakfasts. 

The whole time at the diner Hanzo felt like he was being watched. At some point in the meal, he dared to glance behind himself while Genji was absorbed in his food. Hanzo could have sworn he saw a man in a dark duster, and a wide brimmed hat watching him from the booth behind. He uneasily chalked it up to the stress of that morning’s events and enjoyed some quality time with his little brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like what I do? Consider buying me a [Ko-fi!](http://www.ko-fi.com/katyabaryzh)


	3. Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo has a change of heart. This chapter was heavily inspired by [This song from the Jekyll & Hyde soundtrack.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VzVbFBRnk_s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd because I hate myself lmao  
> Enjoy! Life sucks and I will attempt to update as often as I can.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Hanzo had murdered his husband in cold blood. Two weeks since the sickening crunch of bone met his ears and he felt euphoria. Two weeks since he met Jesse McCree with his cold skin and even colder, depthless eyes. Those eyes that were a voidless black, the eyes that threatened to consume him whole in his worst nightmares. It wasn’t even the power he possessed or his very nature - a demon, like in the stories his father told him, the cautionary tales told to young children to keep them from misbehaving. It was a heady thing to realize all of the things that go bump in the night were a very real thing. Because if demons exist, who’s to say all the other things didn’t? All of this set Hanzo on edge. He became increasingly paranoid with every knock at the door. Every mirror and reflective surface in the house was covered, Hanzo was too afraid to see that he himself would soon become as twisted as the very demon who marked him. He had stopped going outside just last week. Everywhere he turned he swore he could see his late husband’s face. Often pointing at him, mouth agape, paralyzed with the last expression he wore. These hallucinations weren’t normal, a tiny voice in the back of his head told him to seek help, to tell someone of the burden he bore, and yet… 

He steadied himself on the edge of the kitchen counter. His thoughts raced around in his head and his chest felt tight, lungs restricted, he gasped for air, sliding down until his knees hit the cold tile of an immaculately polished floor. Hanzo stared back at his reflection. Dark circles under his eyes, scratches on his neck, hair tangled and greasy. When was the last time he slept, ate or bathed? He only got up to drink water when his throat burned from his attempts to force saliva down. His legs wobbled, every step he took made him dizzy. Nausea settled in his gut and he barely made it to the toilet before purging his meager meal of stale two week-old crackers. Hanzo sat back on his haunches, his body thankfully giving him a reprieve from his dry heaving. Once again his reflection met his eyes. Had his eyes always been this dark? Why was his neck always so damn itchy? He hooked his nails into the already scarred flesh at his neck and dragged down, creating fresh new scratches. The sweet burn grounded him, made him face reality. Slowly he stood up again and tore away the cloth covering the mirror. His eyes seemed to be getting darker and darker by the minute. His knees smacked against the countertop as he hoisted himself up to get a better look. He tilted his head, as if shifting his perspective a little would change what he saw in the mirror. No. His eyes were getting even darker now, slowly morphing into those black voids that he feared so much. Hanzo screamed and slammed his fists against the mirror, bits of glass scattered all over the counter and floor, some shards had embedded themselves in his hands. Blood trickled down onto his pajama pants and he sobbed. What was happening to him? Pain was the only thing that could ground him in this reality. 

 

He was a murderer, a liar, and now the servant of a demon. Why pretend anymore? Why pretend that he still had some decent human morals left. He had to accept the changes coming to him. Perhaps he’d become invincible like the demon he worked with. He had experienced Jesse McCree’s supernatural constitution up close. When the man had entered his house late one night and Hanzo had stabbed him in the eye with a kitchen knife. The demon had laughed at Hanzo’s display before he simply pulled the knife out like it was nothing more than a splinter. Hanzo looked up at the cracked mirror. He could see thousands of himself in a warped, kaleidoscopic reflection, all bearing the same voidless eyes and cheshire grin. 

Hanzo ate a good meal, had a hot shower, and ran a brush through his hair before he sat in front of his vanity. He applied light makeup to his face in areas that so desperately called for it. Tonight he was going out with one specific goal in mind. He adjusted the collar of his dark blue button down. Just enough of his chest was revealed while still keeping something to the imagination. He primped and preened before his keys were gathered and the door was locked. The cool night air greeted him, and for once he was happy to be outside. For the first time in a while he truly felt like himself. Alive. 

Alive, he repeated in his head as he sipped a drink from a friendly stranger. Alive, as he slid into the sleek leather interior of the friendly stranger’s car. Alive, as he was given the main tour of this person’s massive house, a hideous display of wealth, before ending the tour in their bedroom. Alive, as his toes curled against white silk sheets and he saw stars. Alive, as he slipped back into the bedroom with a kitchen knife and let the sheets turn crimson. He lifted the knife up to gaze at his reflection and was greeted with the empty eyes and wide grin. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to smile at the man with the wide brimmed hat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visit me on my tumblr! [Here.](http://www.banillaveanofficial.tumblr.com) Consider buying me a ko-fi? [Here.](https://ko-fi.com/katyabaryzh)


	4. Enigma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo aims to get to know his "business partner" a little better. What better way to bond then over the body you're helping get rid of? (Next few chapters are going to be character development. Stay tuned!)

The enigmatic Jesse McCree had become a near constant in Hanzo’s life since his decision. Hanzo didn’t know much about him; didn’t yet know if he could trust the demon in the first place, but his hands were tied. Side with the demon, or rot in jail. At least he offered to help clean up scenes. He’d known many tricks to throwing the police off their scent, and their recent string of murders hadn’t exactly gone unnoticed. 

One night after they both washed the blood from their hands under a spigot beside the victim’s house, they had been staring at one another for quite some time, a rather unsettling amount of unwavering, intense eye contact. Hanzo closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out all in one annoyed breath. 

“It has occurred to me, Mr. McCree, that we don’t know a lot about one another.” He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that the demon’s eyes were trained on him. He could already feel the sinking feeling in the pit of his gut that he normally got when focusing too intently on how vast the void of Jesse McCree’s eyes was. Hanzo decided to open his eyes now, the demon’s face in his sight confirming his suspicion. He jerked his chin towards the archer, gesturing at him, then continued to focus on washing his hands, getting into the nooks and  
crannies. Blood didn’t bother him. Leaving bloody fingerprints behind did. 

Hanzo crossed his arms now, his eyebrows knitting together in frustration. “I would feel a lot more trust in you if I knew more about you. I’d like to know about my business partners when working with them. I want to know I can trust them.” The demon stopped washing his hands while Hanzo continued to stare at him, waiting for him to say something. He threw his head back and laughed, then fixed Hanzo with an amused look. “Guess ‘ya got a point there pardner!” He winked, adding onto his frustrating Southern charm. McCree stroked his chin, looking up in a pensive manner. “Alright. I’ll bite, but ‘ya gotta tell me a lil’ ‘bout yerself in return.” Hanzo nodded. A sensible request. 

“So whaddya wanna know?” Hanzo looked at his hands closely, making sure there wasn’t a single drop of blood on his hands or in his nails, then answered McCree’s question. Two could play at the dramatic pause game, asshole. “How did you become a demon?” McCree laughed again. “You sure ain’t playing with these questions, pardner.” He finished washing his hands and slipped clean latex gloves over them when they dried a reasonable amount. Impatient, Hanzo mused, waiting for his hands to dry as much as possible. “Hurry up. We still got shit to get rid of.” He rolled his eyes, put on his gloves, then stood and headed into the garage, McCree followed close behind. 

“Asked a demon to make me immortal at a crossroads while dyin’,” He paused, then grunted as they both lifted a garbage bag into the trunk of their victim’s car. “I guess I died shortly after consentin’ to all the small print that comes with becoming a demon. The guy who turned me, he musta felt bad about it or somethin’ because he resurrected me, then turned me into a demon.” Hanzo got into the driver’s seat of the car, not bothering to buckle his seatbelt. There was only one destination in mind for this car, and Hanzo wanted to avoid touching it as much as he could. McCree got into the passenger’s side, clicking his seatbelt into place and shooting a dirty look at Hanzo when he didn’t do the same. Hanzo rolled his eyes and buckled his seatbelt just to avoid the demon’s judgement. The car purred to life and they head off down the road, following the signs to the pier. Most of the drive was spent in a tense sort of silence. McCree expected him to speak, no doubt about it. Hanzo was surprised when McCree broke the silence.

“I swore loyalty to him in the currency of human souls. I’m a lil’ backlogged on uh, orders, you could say. Then I saw how much ‘ya liked killin’ and I figured there could be a lil’ somethin’ in this for the both of us.” Hanzo nervously readjusted his grip on the steering wheel, the latex gloves still on his hands. “We’re here.” He announced simply. 

The duo got out of the car a good few feet from the actual pier, the steam from the exhaust pipes swirled around in the car’s headlights, the night air had a bite to it, especially near the lake. Hanzo drew his coat around himself tighter while McCree got to work setting up the most outdated rig he had ever seen. After a while of loud grumbling and a colorful string of curses, Hanzo had to intervene. “What are you doing?” He had to shout over the car’s tires squealing and the engine revving. Bits of gravel and dirt flew out from underneath the tires, the car tried to accelerate, but was held in place by… a brick… tied to a rope. Hanzo stepped out of the way, lest all the debris wreck his clothes.

Jesse suddenly grabbed Hanzo and whisked him away to the brush nearby where they crouched down, completely hidden. He yanked on the rope and the brick came flying back at him, hitting a tree branch, causing it to break and fall on them. Hanzo, weary of the brick on a rope, managed to dive out of the way of the tree branch. The car, now unimpeded, sailed straight over the dock, skipping on the water a few times, before finally sinking into the deepest part of the lake. McCree stood up and cheered loudly. “Hot damn! Didja see that? Nothin’ like the ‘ole brick on the gas pedal trick.” Hanzo, unimpressed by McCree’s trick, stood up and brushed himself off. “There was no need for your old trick. Everything’s controlled by smartphones now. We could have remote controlled the car into the lake.” McCree pouted, and a small smile spread across Hanzo’s face. The two set off for the path back to the main road, Hanzo obsessively checked for a signal occasionally, determined to just hire a taxi instead of walking all the way home. McCree rose an eyebrow at this. “See, even if shit’s all just controlled by phones, do you think we’d have gotten a decent signal all the way out here? The brick trick works every time.” Hanzo rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time that day, annoyed, but he had to admit that the demon was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like what I do? Consider buying me that sweet bean juice. [Katya's Ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/katyabaryzh)
> 
> As always you can come scream at me on my tumblr. [Katya's tungle](https://katyabaryzh.tumblr.com)


	5. Familiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo and Jesse learn a lot about one another, as well as about themselves. Almost done with the character development, hopefully we should be back on track for plot soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd because I hate myself.

Hanzo and Jesse walked together in silence. Nothing between them but the biting night air, and the crunching of gravel and dry leaves underneath their feet. Jesse had pulled the collar of his duster up to his cheekbones. He was undead, but it seemed the cold still bothered him. _Wish I’d brought my scarf._ He mused to himself. The demon must have noticed him looking, because he smiled and tipped his hat at him. Hanzo turned away, embarrassed. He really ought to work on his subtlety.

They had to travel a good distance up a winding path on a hill. By the time they reached the top Hanzo was exhausted. His calves burned in protest and both of his legs felt as heavy as lead. Lucky for him, the signal in the area was finally strong enough to call for a taxi cab. Hanzo placed his call and looked around the area they were to wait in. A lone streetlight cast a small halo of light around a conveniently placed picnic table.

Hanzo sat down, grunting at the strain on his overworked muscles. He really ought to start running again. He had gotten too used to the cushy life, its effects were evident in the softening of his abdominal muscles along with some of his clothes becoming a bit too tight. If he were to continue this… business, he’d have to insure he wouldn’t tire too easily as he did now. _Sloppy. Imperfect. Must correct._ Hanzo shook his head, willing those thoughts away. He drew his coat tighter around himself, shivering in the cold night air. The cowboy watched silently from afar, keeping guard.

The cab ride ended up being long and uncomfortably silent. There was a stifling tension in the air. They weren’t quite sure what to make of each other yet. One thing they knew for certain: they trusted each other to some degree. Perhaps it was just a mutual respect? Loathe as he was to admit it, Hanzo was becoming fond of the lone cowboy.

Hanzo was thankful to be back inside the warmth of his own home. He rubbed his icy fingers back to life over a recently lit fireplace. Jesse wandered about, looking at Knick Knacks and curios in china cabinets among other hideous displays of wealth. He wondered if any of these pieces held sentimental value to Hanzo at all. He stumbled upon a trophy shelf filled with gold medals and trophies bearing Hanzo’s name. Archery contests. Jesse looked Hanzo up and down again. He was a bit soft, but he did have an athletic build. Someone who’s gotten used to retirement, he thought, an amused grin on his lips. “An archer, huh? I can see it now. Ya got sharp eyes, I can see it. I got ‘em too.”

Hanzo came back from the kitchen with a bottle and two shot glasses, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Yes. I used to be very skilled with the bow. As of now? I’m not sure. I might be a little rusty.” He sat the bottle down on the coffee table and held up a glass, eyebrow raised as he gestured at the bottle.

“Care to join me?” The cowboy tossed his head back in laughter. “That stuff ain’t got no effect on me anymore, but I’ll indulge. Hope it tastes good.” Jesse never used to drink alcohol for the taste. There was one reason one drank; and you had to make sure it was cheap and effective. “Vodka? Oh boy… Whipped cream flavored? Gotta say you’ve piqued my interest.” He sat down next to Hanzo, watching as he poured the shots. Their glasses clinked together as they downed the sweet vodka. Hanzo grimaced as did Jesse. “Shit that was rough. How cheap is this?” Hanzo crossed his arms. “Never mind that. I never really fulfilled my end of our bargain. Liquor makes it easier.”

Jesse’s eyes widened in surprise. Shit. He’d forgotten about that. He’d just wanted to be facetious. It seems Hanzo really took it seriously. “Ah don’t worry about that. I was just fuckin’ with ya.” Hanzo shook his head, an insistent look in his eyes. “That would make me a hypocrite. We both need to trust one another. So, what’s your question?” Jesse looked thoughtful, he remembered back to the trophy case. “You used to be an ace archer, huh?” Hanzo nodded. “Yes. I am retired now.” The gunslinger stroked at his beard. He knew all of this already. He wanted to get down to the nitty gritty. The core of what made Hanzo. “What made you get into archery?” The archer raised a brow at him, a wry look on his face. He tsked, smile growing wider. Jesse mentally saved the image of a smug Hanzo. “You’ve asked your question. Now it’s my turn, but first: we drink.”

Hanzo poured out another round of shots, delighted by the disappointed look on Jesse’s face. They clinked glasses and shuddered through the burning all over again. “This is s’posed to get easier the more you drink, right?” Hanzo shrugged. “I think it’s supposed to get easier because it numbs your throat, that or you’re already getting drunk and you can’t feel it anymore.” Hanzo could never tell the difference. He was of the same mind as Jesse about drinking, though he was a bit pickier with his poison. “So, what’s your question pardner?” They were only two shots deep, but Hanzo could already feel his head buzzing.

“Tell me your story. All of it.” Hanzo had expected Jesse to laugh, but instead he poured another round of shots. “Alright, but you’ll need this. It’s a long story, and it ain’t pretty.” Hanzo raised his glass in a toast, clinking his glass against Jesse’s before swallowing the liquid down. His throat was already numb to the initial burn, now he could focus on the sweet taste of the vodka on the back of his tongue. “Huh. This shit’s pretty tasty when you get past the burn.” Jesse folded his hands together. “I’m not sure where to start. You want the full Wikipedia entry, darlin’?” Hanzo laughed, then shook his head. “No. How did you grow up?” The cowboy retrieved a long sleek case from one of the inside pockets of his duster, opening it to reveal a row of high quality cigars. He started raising one up to his lips, then stopped, remembering his manners. “Mind if I smoke?” Hanzo waved his hand in dismissal. Everyone had their vices, who was he to deny them? “Well thank ya kindly.”

“Let’s see. I grew up in some shitty little trailer park in Sante Fe. My parents were too damn busy with their jobs to raise me, other than keeping me alive. They kept a roof over my head, clothes on my back, and food in my belly. It was lonely, but at least they never hit me.” He paused to take a long drag of his cigar. “Well the folks never really taught me anythin’ in the way of morals. They just told me to sit down, and shut up. Don’t question adults. All that shit just to keep me complacent. Kinda fell into the wrong crowd around High School. Got into all kinds of fights. I was busted for drugs, havin’ a knife on campus. You name it! If it broke the rules, I did it. And they never once expelled me. I stopped carin’ about my education, knew I’d just end up in a gang somewhere selling drugs and roughing people up for money. I repeated my senior year twice, until I turned 18 and decided to say fuck it. I dropped out of high school and I was immediately recruited into the Deadlock Gang.” Hanzo was silent, taking all this information in, Jesse was a talented storyteller.

“The Deadlock Gang? What did they do?” Jesse poured out another round of shots, he was beginning to realize that Hanzo was getting progressively drunker and would be less likely to remember Jesse’s background if he was drunk. Maybe that would help him save face, somehow. A lot of details about his past were… unsavory.

“I think the more appropriate question would be: What didn’t they do? Human trafficking, prostitution, omnic slavery, drug smuggling and dealing, arms dealing. We were called the black market of Route 66 for a reason. Whatever you wanted, so long as you had the dough, we could get it. Anyway, I spent my first two years there just honing my shootin’ skills, got some lectures from older members ‘bout how to do shit. Real studious type, they said. I didn’t start seein’ action ‘til they were confident in my shootin’. ‘Course they figured out real fast that I’m a sharpshooter. It didn’t take long. I shot above my station, got put in a position of power of sorts. I was the Boss’s right-hand man. Didn’t like the bastard, but I had a secured future. Far as I was concerned, I had shit figured out, and I was only 22!”

Jesse ashed his cigar in the ashtray Hanzo provided, then took a long drag, blowing out rings of smoke. Hanzo watched, entranced. Then his eyes crept to the cowboy’s lips. Jesse had a knack for knowing when the archer was staring, and he seemed to hold it over his head. He flashed him a lazy smile, winked, then took another drag of his cigar before continuing with his story. Hanzo felt his face burning, but that could have been the alcohol.

“Well there were people who admired me for my feat, and then there were the people who wanted to see me fall. Wanted to see me dead. I didn’t stay in Deadlock forever. There was a job I took that changed me forever.” Hanzo could sense there was something deep in this story. He sloppily poured shots for himself and the demon, managing to get most of it in his mouth. Jesse tipped the glass back, thankful for the strong bite of the liquor to ground himself.

“Thanks. The intel we got was about a trio of punk ass gangsters. Low lives, at least according to the Boss. They hadn’t sworn fealty to the true kings around there, so we were told to bully ‘em a lil’.” Jesse took another drag of his cigar, his left hand starting to fidget around in the pockets of his duster. Hanzo instead paid attention to the cigar whenever it was between his parted lips.

“Turns out that intel was all a lie. I rolled up to the address with my group of buddies, saw all these children’s toys and shit out on the front lawn and realized we’d been set up. This was the house of the boss’s archenemy, he’d intended for us to take the guy’s family out. Anyway, I turned to my guys and tell ‘em we must have gotten bad intel, when the guy’s brother comes out with a shotgun and shoots my buddy in the fucking head. A big firefight broke out on this poor bastard’s front lawn. The kids are fuckin’ terrified, and there’s screamin’…” He shook his head, taking a moment to clear his mind. “I was crouchin’ behind a tree, though I was covered up pretty good until a shotgun shell blew up near my face.”

Jesse took off his hat, then showed Hanzo a long vertical scar running through his left eye. “I was bleedin’ all over the damn place, couldn’t see shit in front of me, but somehow, I could just… see the outlines of people. I hyper focus or some shit, I don’t know. Well that thing is happenin’, I call it Deadeye, anyway I have 6 bullets in the chamber. I had intended to end this with as little injury as I could. I don’t know what the fuck happened. I musta blacked out or somethin’, but I fired off every last round. Hit one of the kids in the eye. He didn’t make it. I killed the kid’s father too. That’s when I decided to leave Deadlock. I felt I needed to atone for my sins. I never was a religious man, but… God almighty that job left me so shaken up.”

Hanzo looked at the cowboy’s hat, then at the scar on his face. “So that’s why you wear the hat?” He slurred, swaying slightly from where he sat on the couch. Jesse laughed uproariously. “Never thought about it that way. Yeah I guess so.” Hanzo poured himself another shot and downed it without grimacing. “Jesus Christ. Alright that’s enough.” Jesse put the top back on the half empty vodka bottle and took it and the shot glasses back to the kitchen. He came back with a glass of water for Hanzo, who lay sprawled out on the couch. “Let’s get ya to bed.”

After wrestling the drunk archer into his bed, Jesse lingered at his bedside, watching the man’s peaceful expression. He cursed silently under his breath. He was beginning to care too much for the human. They had a business contract with one another, Jesse couldn’t afford to get attached. Hanzo would die someday, whether that was soon or a little farther off, he would be there to collect it. All to fulfill his debt.

Being undead, Jesse didn’t need to sleep, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like to occasionally indulge. He rested on Hanzo’s couch, hat over his face, hand in his coat, fingers brushing against Peacemaker. Always a cautious sleeper. Demons don’t dream; however, Jesse woke up in a cold sweat. He’d vividly relived his death all over again. That wasn’t what bothered him, what had bothered him was Hanzo’s presence in his memory. He needed answers. He felt the familiar stomach-dropping sensation of his master’s portal pulling him through. The familiar bone-white barn owl mask greeted him. “Think I got a problem Boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	6. Smoke and Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji is suspicious of Hanzo. How could someone go through husbands this fast? Where was all this money coming from, and most importantly, how far could Genji expect his brother to go?
> 
> Unbeta'd as always.

Genji had noticed Hanzo’s drastic change in behavior. He hadn’t believed it for one bit, knew it was some act of his. He knew this, because whatever this new act was; it went away when he spoke with his father. Genji knew Hanzo to be a more introverted person as well, he knew he hated attention, and would, in fact, do everything in his power to keep attention off him.

Now, though, as he observed his brother and father talking from afar, he could tell Hanzo was truly being himself. Always listening, rarely speaking. He preferred to keep the topic off himself after all. The fact that he was speaking so openly to his father in the first place surprised Genji. He remembered a time where Hanzo had wanted nothing to do with his father.

They’d had an argument about Hanzo’s future – Hanzo having taken his own route in school, as opposed to the one proposed by his father – the result was a long time of avoiding contact with one another, in fact, their father had kicked Hanzo out of the house and called him a traitor. Their father had also made it a point that he was not going to Hanzo’s first wedding, nor any of the ones after. Genji never thought they would get over that feud. He was afraid their relationship would be permanently damaged after the fact. He had shared grievances with both sides, yet he refused to stand behind either of them. Their feud was petty, in Genji’s mind. He’d much prefer it if they’d apologized like adults and stayed together like a family should. _Because Mama is gone, and the house feels so much larger._ Genji shook the thought away.

What had caused Hanzo to change like this? Genji had pondered this more than once, occasionally being swayed away from the thought by Hanzo’s actions. When he’d started actively questioning it, and Hanzo had burst into tears out of nowhere. That moment had never left his mind. He had his doubts though, and the fact that the money that kept the Shimada family business running came from the men that Hanzo married showed volumes. This was a difficult thought to commit to mind. That his brother might be a serial murderer at this point. Genji shook his head, trying to will these thoughts away. Hanzo was visiting. It would be in his best interest to stay on his brother’s good side, lest he test his brother’s infamous short temper. He shuddered to think that Hanzo might kill him if he got in the way.

More importantly, their father didn’t have much longer for this world. Each doctor visit, his life expectancy seemed to get shorter and shorter. He was down to about a month now. Genji would mentally prepare himself whenever his father went to sleep for the night, that he might never wake up. His father was meant to live far beyond this. More than that, Genji feared being alone in this big house. That his thoughts might consume him, and he might never leave. How could he deal with the family business on his own? The Shimada Fishery was a multi-generational business, widely respected in the community, Genji had a lot on his shoulders. Especially now that business was booming. No doubt some result of Hanzo’s newfound popularity.

\--

“So, has your degree been put to good use?” Sojiro stared straight into his eldest child’s eyes. Hanzo laughed softly. “Of course. I have my own clothing line now.” The old man tilted his head in question. “Really? I’ve never heard of it.” Hanzo could feel his face heating up. It was unfortunate that Sojiro liked to get a rise out of pissing Hanzo off. He cleared his throat, trying to focus on happier, more fruitful topics. “Yes. I’ve completed custom orders for some minor celebrities already. Broadway actors who can afford to throw money down.” He twiddled his thumbs, staring at his hands in his lap. A wry smile spread across his father’s face. “Like who?” Hanzo sucked in a breath, then listed them off, still staring at the floor. His father’s eyes seemed to widen in recognition at a handful of the many names Hanzo listed. “Seems like it’s doing you good.” Hanzo sighed in relief.

Their conversation continued, moving onto much easier topics now. Sojiro never had anything new to share, other than the occasional doctor visit. The old man liked to reminisce about fishing trips and family vacations. Hanzo was more than happy to just listen, occasionally adding to the stories, sharing his point of view at certain times. His opinion on the fishing trips always seemed to amount to –

“You hate the smell of fish. I know. Genji knows. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole damn world knows by now.” His father rolled his eyes in annoyance and Hanzo pouted. After a bout of awkward silence, Sojiro began coughing into his handkerchief, and Hanzo poured him a glass of water, waiting for his coughing fit to end. “Here. Drink this.” Sojiro sipped the water, then handed it back to Hanzo. He cleared his throat. “I really am glad you’re back here Hanzo. I don’t have much time left.” The archer’s ears burned, something about hearing his father sound so defeated didn’t sit well with him. “I’m proud to call you my son.” Hanzo’s heart panged, tears pricking at his eyes. “Of course.” He responded simply, a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet, sweet validation, amirite? 
> 
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